


Letters to Becca

by Ellerigby13



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bucky Barnes Feels, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Family, Letters, Pen Pals
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:20:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26401792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellerigby13/pseuds/Ellerigby13
Summary: A series of letters received by Rebecca Barnes over the course of her life, and some after.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Rebecca Barnes Proctor, James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Darcy Lewis
Comments: 34
Kudos: 69
Collections: Letters of Note





	1. Before

**Author's Note:**

> This one has been brewing for quite some time, y'all. I'm definitely making some changes to MCU and comics canon, so be advised. Also, uh...I think it's needless to say that there's going to be sadness. I mean, it's me. What did you expect?

May 7, 1921

_ (On a folded white piece of paper, an almost indiscernible squiggle of graphite detailing two small stick figures connected at the circular hands. Inside, a child’s shaky lettering, the blocky letters clearly traced over thin penciled words a parent has lined out.) _

DEAR BECCA,

> HAPPY BIRTHDAY! YOU ARE 1 YEAR OLD TODAY. I LOVE YOU!

LOVE, BUCKY

May 7, 1922

_ (Another folded white piece of paper, with only a slightly more developed drawing of what appears to be a boy - distinguished by his short hair - and a girl - distinguished by her pigtails and bow - on the front. Inside, a child’s handwriting, independently written but inconsistent. Like most children, his adeptness at uppercase and lowercase letters varies. His signature, however, he believes that he has perfected.) _

dEAr BECCA,

> HAppY bIrTHdAY! yOU ARE TwO yEARs Old TODAY. I lOVE yOU!

lOVE, BUCKY BARNES

May 7, 1927

_ (A white piece of paper with a much clearer drawing of a boy and a girl. The boy wears a pressed button-down shirt with rudimentary shadowing to indicate creases, a loose striped tie, and the trousers of a Catholic school uniform. The girl, a traditional blouse paired with a jumper and tights. It is not the boy’s drawing, but inside, his handwriting is tidier than most his age. The words balance precariously on moderately even lines that he has traced out with a ruler.) _

Dear Becca,

> Happy birthday. Today you’re seven years old. I hope you’re enjoing the first grade, because it doesn’t get much better after that. I also hope you enjoi the drawing on this card. Steve did it, he’s a teriffic artist. I also learned today that fourth grade parragraphs need 6 sentences, so this is my sixth sentence.

Your Brother, James Buchanan Barnes

May 7, 1932

_ (A white piece of paper with what could be a professional drawing of a boy and a girl. Unlike the ones preceding it, this paper has been torn from a notebook or sketchbook, with rough edges on the left side. The boy has gangly limbs but has been drawn handsomely, his jaw beginning to square and his hands pose authoritatively against his hips. The girl still carries some baby fat in her cheeks, but there is something mature to the way her long, dark braid lies across her shoulder, or perhaps in the exasperated eye roll she casts the boy beside her. The handwriting on the opposite side of the paper is tidy in its lettering, but disorganized in its spacing.) _

Hey Becca,

> Happy 12th birthday. Ma and I are real proud of that science test you aced the other day - must’ve been more than just birthday luck! I think you’re starting to shine a little too much. She’s been on me about my geometry work, but I hardly think that’ll be my forte once I finish school. Steve wants to go to art school (obviously), but you and Ma will probably be stuck with me until we’re all old and gray.
> 
> Check under your pillow for your gift from me. It ain’t much, but I figure as the man of the house I should probably stop trying to pass off Steve’s drawings as my present to you. Blue’s a good color on you, and if you’re going to be chasing boys at Coney (hey, I may not like it, but I sure as hell can’t stop you - as long as you remind them about my KO record at the Y), you might as well have a little jewelry to show off. But for my health and for Ma’s, try not to chase too hard.
> 
> Anyhow, happy birthday. We’ll do something special this weekend if you’ve got time for us.

Love, Bucky

May 7, 1938

_ (A standard issue brown envelope, and standard issue brown scrap of paper. The letter is written meticulously, filling up almost every inch of the page. The ink smudges in a few places where the writer’s hand has smeared the lettering with haste. Tucked in the envelope are a few dollar bills tied together with plain string.) _

Dear Becca,

> Happy 18th birthday. I wish I could be there to taste Ma’s famous birthday cake with you, but my next furlough should come soon enough, and then we’ll really be able to celebrate. I ain’t exactly rich enough to buy you every steak dinner you and Ma deserve, but I promise you, we’ll have a night worth remembering.
> 
> Steve wrote me he’d visited you guys a few weeks back, on break from art school. He said he’d drawn you up a new picture of you and that sweetheart of yours, and promised that if old Winston broke your heart, he’d be the same scuffed up punk you remember and pick a fight with him. I know Winston’s got about a foot and a hundred pounds on him, but if it were me, I wouldn’t cross Steve Rogers either. He’s got enough fire in him for six guys Winston’s size.
> 
> Things are the same as usual here at boot camp. I’m pretty sure the grog is just mashed up bits of the last poor saps who trained here, all the recruits smell like wet dog, and all the drill sergeants smell worse. It’s a sad day in hell when the thing I’m proudest of is how clean I can get my rifle in two minutes. I’m sure Dad would be proud.
> 
> How’s school going? You’ll be out in the world soon, so I do hope you’re making the most of that Coney Island education. We’re going to need smart kids like you running the city, especially now that things are ramping up in Germany. I know I ain’t supposed to  _ want _ us to get involved, but that Hitler bastard is a piece of work, what we know about him. People have to realize, we might look different or come from different places, it don’t make us better than others. Ain’t about where we come from, it’s about what we do and who we become.
> 
> Well, there I go rambling. It’s tough when I don’t have that sharp tongue of yours to tell me when to shut up. Just keep going on and on.
> 
> Anyhow, consider this cash part of an early birthday present, and get yourself something I never would’ve picked out. Or something I would’ve picked out, but that you already had, like I did last year with that book, the Fitzgerald one. Man, was that guy a piece of work. You both got more brains in your pinkie toes than I got in my whole body. Guess being a piece of work goes hand in hand with genius, huh?
> 
> Keep me updated on how your actual day goes. Miss you and Ma more than I can possibly write. I’ll see you both soon enough, and Stevie, too, if we can make the furlough work out.

Love you, kid. Talk soon, Bucky

June 20, 1943

_ (Another standard issue brown envelope with a brown scrap inside. This letter is much shorter, and a few pressed petals of dried lilac lie sadly at the bottom of the envelope. The handwriting is not necessarily scrawled, but there is a rush to the lettering that crams each syllable too closely together, as if the writer is uncertain how much time or room he will have.) _

Dear Bec,

> Looks like I’m shipping out sooner than I thought. Big things must be happening on the front.
> 
> Don’t worry for me; I’ve never met a scrap I couldn’t fight my way out of, and I’ve got plenty of pals out here to keep my back. Never met a better bunch of fellas.
> 
> You and Ma keep safe. And keep Steve from picking any more fights I can’t bail him out of. I know he’s itching to be part of this war, but it ain’t safe for him. I’d bet my bottom dollar if he came face to face with Hitler, he’d take every muscle in that scrawny body of his and pack the biggest wallop any of us have ever seen. Punk has spirit, and war ain’t the place for anybody with that.

I love you and Ma both more than I can stand. Talk soon, Bucky

May 4, 1944

_ (A standard issue brown envelope, but inside are two fine white pieces of paper, the edges torn away from a sketchbook. Another professional-looking charcoal drawing of two women, one middle aged with a full head of salt and pepper hair and a kind smile, and one youth with bright eyes and a brilliant grin, has been sketched into one piece, while a letter is written excitedly on the other.) _

Dear Ma and Becca,

> This is what I get for going missing - the puny punk you remember losing his lunch on the Cyclone went and beefed himself up with some linebacker serum and became the Football Captain of America. Went on tour with a bunch of leggy dames (sorry, Ma), saw the whole United States, decked Herr Hitler in the kisser a dozen times, and went rogue to pick me up from the clutches of this maniac Austrian doctor. Finally, little old Steve’s got the ability to put his fists where his mouth has always been.
> 
> Things have been rough and ready on the front, but I gotta tell you - having my best pal by my side through it all has made everything worth it. Maybe not the torture, and maybe not sharing my rations with him (he eats like a horse now, it’s a sight to see), but for the most part, the punk brings a smile to my face every chance he gets.
> 
> I don’t know what else to tell you about war. Frankly, I’m getting bored of thinking of dirt, grime, and sweat in my boots, and I feel like you should be, too. If we find a stable place for me to ask you to send things, fresh socks are always appreciated, should you be able to pick them up. I know things are slim pickings back home, too, so no big rush.
> 
> I’ve picked up some French out here, but nothing I’d be too proud to share with you, Ma. Might try and send Becca a letter to teach her all the best insults for any kids who cross her in the classroom.  _ Andouille! _ is the first that comes to mind, and it’s tame enough not to get you in trouble with any higher ups. I’ll send some of the riskier ones in my next letter.
> 
> I don’t want to get too big for my britches, but here’s hoping that this war ends soon. It sure feels like we’ve been doing some good, at least. I’ve been craving a Coney Island hot dog for the last eleven months; maybe when we come home I can see if Captain America still pukes on the Cyclone.

Love you both always. Talk soon, Bucky

February 17, 1945

_ (At half past nine o’clock in the evening, a Western Union messenger who is tall and slender and pimply knocks on the door of Apartment 6C at 499 Van Brunt Street. He silently hands Winnie Barnes a yellow telegram, and with a melancholy and apologetic nod, descends the stairs behind him. The telegram has been typed, and contains no warmth of her son’s handwriting to comfort Winnie when she realizes what it is.) _

Mrs. Winifred Barnes,

> 499 Van Brunt St. #6C Brooklyn, NY
> 
> The Secretary of War desires me to express his deepest regret that your son Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes was killed in action on Nineteen January in Romania. Letter follows.

Ulio The Adjutant General

February 27, 1945

_ (A standard issue brown envelope, containing a standard issue scrap of paper. The handwriting would be neat, had the writer’s hands not shaken while he penned his message. The page is far from full; it is clear that the sender does not know what to say.) _

Winnie and Becca,

> I should have done more to save him. I’m sorry.

Steve


	2. Then

Some Time Later

_ (A plain white envelope with holographic stickers pasted between the addresses. Inside, more stickers, and the large, looping handwriting of a pre-teenaged girl.) _

Dear Mrs. Rebecca Rodriguez,

> Thank you for signing up for the Coast-to-Coast Pen Pals Program! I’m so excited to get to know you over the next few months and hopefully make a friend in you, and have you make a friend in me.
> 
> My name is Darcy Lewis. I’m ten years old, and some of my favorite things are stickers (as you can see!), dancing, playing card games, and The Backstreet Boys. My favorite subject in school is probably Social Studies, because I like learning about history and the people who came before us. What was your favorite subject in school growing up?
> 
> I saw that in your introduction, you said you liked baseball, cooking, and reading. Since you live in San Francisco, are the Giants your favorite team? My dad is a big Phillies fan, but we haven’t been to a game in a long time. What is your favorite thing to cook? Do you have a different favorite food to cook than your favorite food to eat? I like to eat macaroni and cheese, but my dad is teaching me how to make omelets. Let me know what your favorite books are. I also like to read, but so many books our teachers choose for us in school can be so boring. I don’t mind the short stories Ms. Andrews assigns us, because they’re over fast, but I’m always looking for good new books. The last one I read outside of class was Tracks, it’s a book about Native American people called Anishinaabe and their lives in North Dakota. I’ve never been to North Dakota, and I don’t know that I would want to visit after reading. I also really liked Perks of Being a Wallflower. I don’t know if you’ve ever read things like these, but I really recommend them.
> 
> I am so excited to hear from you soon. Please write me when you get a chance!

Love always,

Darcy Lewis

April 9, 1998

_ (A plain white envelope with Backstreet Boys stickers stuck between the addresses yet again. On the inside, there are only words, but they have been enthusiastically scripted across the page.) _

Dear Mrs. Becca,

> Thank you for your quick response. I’m so glad to hear that you like the Backstreet Boys too! I didn’t know that they played their songs at homes like the one you’re living in. You’re right that Kevin is pretty cute, but I don’t think I like boys with mustaches. Nick is my favorite.
> 
> I had never heard of rummy before you sent your letter. My cousin taught me how to play bridge when I visited her last summer, but she’s kind of bossy, and it didn’t take long for me to get tired of playing with her and her friends. They’re all kind of similar, bossy teenagers who fight all the time. I hope I never become the same kind of teenager. If I ever come to visit San Francisco, will you teach me to play rummy? Is it the kind of game we can play just the two of us, or do we need a group of people, like poker?
> 
> I also think that if we ever meet, we should go see a Phillies-Dodgers game. I’ll try not to tease you too badly when the Phillies win, but I can’t make any promises.
> 
> That macaroni recipe sounds super delicious! I don’t know how I feel about bacon and brussels sprouts yet, but since you said it was good I guess I should give it a chance. My mom likes to bake more than she likes to cook, so I’ll have to ask her about her cake recipes for you.
> 
> I like science, too, just not the gross experiments like dissecting animals and stuff. Biology isn’t until next year (this year we’re learning more about geology and environmental science), but I think I’ll have to call in sick for the days we dissect frogs and things like that. I don’t know why we don’t have flying cars yet either. I used to watch The Jetsons all the time, and all that stuff is supposed to be coming up soon, so our scientists better get on it.
> 
> I don’t know yet if I’m old enough to read F. Scott Fitzgerald - Mom said there’s a lot of drinking in his books - but I will check out  _ The Great Gatsby _ and  _ This Side of Paradise  _ when I’m a little older. Thank you for your recommendations.
> 
> I look forward to hearing from you soon!

Love always,

Darcy Lewis

May 7, 1998

_ (A plain white envelope with two stickers, one on either side of the receiving address. On the inside, a small cake has been drawn to the right hand side of the handwriting, and a single head of a daisy rests, uncrushed, against the letter.) _

Dear Mrs. Becca,

> Happy birthday! I hope you like daisies - my dad says they’re meant to bring joy no matter where they come from and no matter where they go. I just think they look sweet and tiny.
> 
> My mom is baking that cake recipe you sent tonight and we’ll be celebrating in Philly in your honor. I’ve never had caramel cake, but I like caramel and I like cake, so I have a feeling I’ll love it. Dad says it’s impolite to ask a woman how many candles to put on the cake, so we’ll just put 7, since your birthday is the 7th. Maybe someday we will be able to celebrate in person. That time, I’ll bake the cake on my own so you can tell me honestly how it turns out and you won’t feel like you have to be polite to my mom, who you’ve never met.
> 
> What are your plans for your big day? Does the retirement home throw parties for birthdays? Are you allowed to make your own cake or is someone supposed to do it for you? And, most importantly, will you be playing the Backstreet Boys at your party? I heard they’re coming out with a new single soon, and I can’t wait.
> 
> I won’t keep you reading too long. I’m sure you’ve got plenty of presents to open, songs to dance to, and cake to eat. Again, happy birthday, and I hope it’s a great one!

Love always,

Darcy Lewis

December 29, 1998

_ (A square envelope containing a prettily decorated card, the curling white letters spelling out THANK YOU across a chalkboard-esque front cover.) _

Dear Mrs. Becca,

> Thank you so much for my birthday card! I can’t believe that there were Backstreet Boys stickers I hadn’t found yet. I loved them SO MUCH. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
> 
> How was your Christmas? I am usually jealous of California weather, but there is something magical about a fresh white coat of snow on Christmas morning. I have never been to New York in the winter, but the New York snow in the movies and TV shows always seems kind of dirty. Maybe this is just me being picky. Do you ever miss the snow?
> 
> As we ring in the New Year, I am trying to think of New Year’s resolutions I might make, but I don’t exactly understand how they’re supposed to work. Mom always resolves to be more healthy, but February is her birthday month, so she usually gives up by the time her party rolls around. And Dad usually resolves to spend his money better, but by the time Mom’s birthday rolls around, that’s usually kaput, too. Plus, I think I should probably just try to be a better person with every passing year. Am I crazy for thinking that? Do you have any resolutions you want to make for the New Year?
> 
> I look forward to hearing from you again soon. Would you be able to send me another postcard from somewhere in San Francisco, please? I really liked the one you sent me from Haight and Ashbury. It’s pinned to my bulletin board.

Love always,

Darcy Lewis

May 3, 1999

_ (A plain white envelope with white binder paper inside. A Curt Schilling baseball card is folded between the creases of the sheet of binder paper.) _

Dear Mrs. Becca,

> I don’t mean to rub it in, but my team kind of kicked your team’s butt yesterday. Yes, I know they’re not actually  **your** team and you’ll probably be annoyed with me for even writing the word “Giants” after our first letter, but I still needed to hoot at someone for how the Phillies played yesterday. By the way, I’ve included a baseball card here in case you’re ever interested in following a good team ;)
> 
> I’m enjoying the last days of summer as much as I can, but that book you recommended,  _ The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, _ was so good! It fits our summer book report list, so I’m planning on making a diorama of Arthur and the gang on Magrathea to present on our first day back. It’s the best book anyone has ever asked/told me to read. Thank you for recommending it.
> 
> One of these days either you will have to come visit me over the summer or I will have to come visit you. If I come to you, we can even take a road trip down to L.A. to watch the Phillies kick the Dodgers’ butt - I mean, watch our favorite teams play. (Seriously, how can you stand living in your rivals’ city?!)
> 
> I don’t know if you’ve heard about this, but the Backstreet Boys are going on tour! AND THEY’RE MAKING A STOP IN PHILADELPHIA. Please, please,  **please** tell me you don’t have anything going on that week? You’re the only one who truly understands this amazing need I have.
> 
> I look forward to hearing from you soon!

Love always,

Darcy Lewis

October 12, 1999

_ (One wouldn’t notice at first glance, but as the years have passed and the letters have been sent, the handwriting in these letters has been slowly growing taller and slimmer, as to pack more words into each line. The frivolity of stickers is now absent, but there’s still an air of youth to the bouncing roundness of each ‘b,’ ‘p,’ even the ‘s’ shapes. A small, grainy photo of a dark-haired girl with bright pink lip gloss and a gap-toothed smile and a much older woman, her thumb tucked to her middle and ring fingers in the ‘rock on!’ sign, lies neatly across the front of the letter.) _

Dear Mrs. Becca,

> Holy cow. My brain barely has the strength to put a pen in my hand and put that pen on paper after your visit this week, but Mrs. Becca! I had so much fun meeting with you in person, finally! And finally getting to see the BACKSTREET BOYS with you was the cherry on freaking top. With all due respect, you’re the coolest old person I’ve ever met in my entire life.
> 
> The next time you come up here we will have to do all the touristy Philly things. A cheesesteak isn’t enough to make up for missing out on the art museum, the Liberty Bell, all that junk people who aren’t from Philadelphia like doing that we got forced to do on field trips in second grade.
> 
> I know it’s only been a week since we met, but I’m excited to find a time when I can come visit you in California. All the pictures and postcards you brought looked so beautiful, and I’ve always wanted to see San Francisco. Mom thinks it’s because of Mrs. Doubtfire, but don’t tell her it’s also because I watched Vertigo and Big Trouble in Little China at Natalie’s house. And, obviously, because I can’t wait to see the city with you. We can go see Candlestick Park, and the Ghirardelli Factory, and those big sloping hills near the bay. When I see the cliffs by the ocean it reminds me of the pictures I’ve seen of Scotland, but it’s a hundred times better because it’s the city. I don’t think I could ever live anywhere but a city. Who knows - maybe someday I’ll move to one of yours, San Francisco or New York.
> 
> I feel like such a motormouth going on like this, but the time we had when you were here was the most fun I’ve had in a real long time. You’re pretty great, and I can’t wait to see you again sometime soon.
> 
> Thank you for everything. Old fogey or not, you really are one of my best friends. And, young dorky braceface or not, I hope I really am one of yours.
> 
> I look forward to hearing from you soon!

Love always, Darcy Lewis

August 23, 2006

_ (A simple square thank you note, peach-colored, with an illustration of a cactus on the front. On the inside, the top right corner contains a rough, inky black doodle of a ram, with the letters “CU” beneath.) _

Dear Mrs. Becca,

> First of all, I wanted to thank you for taking the time to guide us around San Francisco back in July. The SF MOMA was probably my favorite part of the trip, with that cafe you took us to in the Mission District coming at a close second. I’ve never had such amazing huevos rancheros; you’ll have to find their recipe for me if you ever have a chance. Your grandkids were also really kind to us, though you’ll have to tell Luis that if he ever  _ really  _ wants a date with a strange girl, he’ll have to slow down so she can get a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’ in edgewise.
> 
> Secondly, I wanted to thank you for the wonderful card you sent for my graduation party. I am a little worried that any bookstore gift cards I receive will go toward books I want to read instead of books for school. Mom promises she’ll keep the evil eye on me at all times to make sure that I’m keeping up with my work, though, so have no fear, I’ll still be on top of things. You know me, you know I want to do well.
> 
> As you’d expect, I’m a little anxious about going off to Culver. I’m still not sure what I want to major in, but I know I want to make a difference in politics, somehow. Poli-sci seems like the obvious choice, but I wonder if communications will open more doors, or if I should just go into business to be practical and build a political career off my reputation, which, as you know, is glimmering. Advice on this would be greatly appreciated, if you have any input.
> 
> I hope to hear from you soon.

Love always,

Darcy Lewis

May 14, 2010

_ (A plain white envelope with a sheet of binder paper inside. The writing is slightly untidy but legible, letters big enough to suit Mrs. Rodriguez’s aging eyes. She has her grandson Luis read it to her anyway. He is happy to oblige; this is the first time he’s seen her since his release from San Quentin. He promises to bring his new best friend Scott over one of these days.) _

Dear Mrs. Becca,

> There’s so much I want to tell you in this letter, but I can’t give too many details. Some assholes already stole my iPod (the good one, with all our Romancing Nick Carter playlists), and I feel like if I give too much away, they can mess with my life more than they already have.
> 
> This semester has held much more than I thought a final six college credits would. I  _ thought _ things were going to be easy, interning for this physicist and her friend, an old man who’s too smart for his own good, but it turns out that my last semester has been...busier than I would have expected. Puente Antiguo was fun while it lasted, and I finally got to use my taser, but I think all I’d really like now is a long nap.
> 
> Can I road trip up to you and stay in San Francisco for a couple of days before heading home? I’ll book us a hotel room for a weekend; we can play all the Scrabble you can stand, and maybe a few games of rummy if I can manage to get out of bed at all.
> 
> Shit - I should have just started this letter over and reminded you HAPPY BIRTHDAY. Sorry, I’ve got a lot on my mind and I really don’t feel like writing this over again.
> 
> I hope you had a brilliant day, and let’s celebrate more if I can spend some time up in the Bay with you.
> 
> Looking forward to hearing from you soon!

Love always,

Darcy Lewis

September 13, 2010

_ (A weathered yellow envelope and inside, almost ancient yellowing paper. The ink is fresh, though, and it’s a good thing that Luis is there when Becca opens this letter. He catches her before she falls, the moment she recognizes the handwriting.) _

Dear Becca,

> I don’t know how to explain it, but I’m in New York, alive. They tell me I shouldn’t be getting in touch with anyone, that I should use a fake name until they figure out how to tell the press, but you were one of the first people I thought to look up when they let me out of the “hospital.” There’s too much to explain in a letter.
> 
> I know I can’t make anything up to you. Losing Bucky is still the hardest thing I’ve ever known. I would like to see you, if you’ll have me. If you don’t, I understand.

Yours,

Steve


End file.
